


Just Don't Let Go (Or Your May Drown)

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [16]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Lambert Needs a Hug (The Witcher), M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Psychological Trauma, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Geralt releases a weary sigh. “It’s so easy to fuck up.” Letting out a bitter laugh he adds, “Monster hunting is simple. It’s black and white. You know their strengths and weaknesses, you know the best strategy of beating them, you battle it out, you hopefully survive.” He pauses, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to fight this monster.”Healing takes time. In which Jaskier works on healing emotionally and, after a run in with his old crew, Aiden works to heal physically.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Vesemir (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 49
Kudos: 314





	Just Don't Let Go (Or Your May Drown)

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read "Shelter Me From the Storm" all you need to know is Jaskier was kidnapped and tortured (off screen) by Stregobor. This takes place shortly after where that fic ends. And if you're new to the series, Jaskier is a shifter, Geralt was recently turned into a shifter too, and Marya is Jaskier's mother and in a relationship with Vesemir. (Should I be doing these synopses at the start of every fic?)

Jaskier has disappeared again. This has become a common occurrence since they’ve gotten him back. He gets overwhelmed and skittish easily and frequently maintains a careful distance from the rest of the members of the keep. At least Geralt knows where to find him most days. 

When he walks into the stable, it’s to see the filly curled up beside a russet wolf. Though they have Jaskier back on two legs, he still spends most days on four, craving the way his shifted form numbs his emotions and stunts his fears. Whether it’s the healthiest coping strategy is up to those much more well adjusted than Geralt. All he can say is that if his mate is able to find comfort when shifted, he’s not about to force Jaskier to remain human.

“How are you doing Roach Jr?” Geralt croons, pulling out a piece of an apple to feed the foal.

“I thought I made it clear that I vetoed that name,” Jaskier grumbles from where he’s now kneeling in some hay. 

“Give me a better name and I’ll use it,” Geralt shrugs, flashing Jaskier a challenging smirk. Jaskier had instantly attached himself to the foal, spending long hours with her and Roach nearly every day. But despite his adamant refusal to call the newborn Roach Jr, he has yet to come up with anything better.

Jaskier turns an assessing gaze onto the bright gold filly and studies her for a long moment. She watches him with dark eyes that glitter in the sunlight as her white mane and tail blow softly in the summer breeze. “Biscuit,” Jaskier eventually declares with a decisive nod. Geralt blinks. Not a name he was expecting.

“You really wanna name a horse after your favorite thing to eat?” Geralt asks dubiously.

Jaskier turns to him with a wan smile. “I want to name her after something that brings us joy. And the thing that gave me the last push to come back to you.” 

Damn this man and his sincerity. Speechless, Geralt settles on the floor and opens his arms in invitation. He tries his best to respect Jaskier’s boundaries and not touch him without explicit permission anymore. Despite his ordinarily tactile nature, since Jaskier’s ordeal the likelihood of him wanting to be touched fluctuates from moment to moment. So when Jaskier crawls into his arms, Geralt releases a relieved sigh, breathing in that familiar pine and honey scent. “Thank you for coming back,” Geralt whispers, closing his eyes. “I know you went so deep to protect yourself.” 

Jaskier has been human again for a few weeks now but the harrowing months prior are still fresh in Geralt’s memory. If he’s been holding Jaskier longer and tighter lately the shifter has been kind enough not to mention it. But there’s still a lot of recovering to be done and wounds that have not been fully healed. Geralt has been tripping and stumbling his way through helping Jaskier as best he can, making mistakes near constantly. 

If Geralt slips up and calls Jaskier “little wolf” by accident, the shifter runs into the woods for the rest of the day. And if Geralt places a hand too close to Jaskier’s throat he stiffens up like a cornered animal, eyes wide and frightened. It always takes several minutes to get Jaskier to relax after that. Even regular touching between them has been affected. The first few times Geralt attempted to draw Jaskier into a hug or even nudge him without warning, the shifter flinched harshly and shrunk away. He’s been more careful since. It’s so hard to restrain himself, but Geralt continues to try for the sake of his mate. It doesn’t help that Jaskier remains tight lipped about what he went through. If he started opening up maybe that would help him begin healing. Until then, it makes the most sense to remain at Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier only weakly suggested returning to the Path once but Geralt quickly shot that down. Yes, part of him may itch at the thought of not helping the humans he was created to protect, but between the world and Jaskier, he will choose his mate every time. Jaskier needs to be somewhere safe, somewhere near more of his pack. Besides, that’s why Lambert and Eskel returned to the Path, despite their reluctance. The rest of the world can survive without the White Wolf for a year. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Geralt asks. When he returned from hunting with Vesemir, Marya informed him that something spooked Jaskier soon after they had left and Geralt came straight here without a second thought. Now Jaskier curls into Geralt’s lap, arms tightening as he nuzzles Geralt’s nape. He’s silent for awhile, and Geralt allows the silence to fester, stroking Jaskier’s back steadily in the meantime. 

“Was helping Marya inventory the infirmary,” Jaskier mumbles, voice muffled from where he’s buried his face in Geralt’s tunic. Geralt’s grip around his mate tightens as Jaskier starts to tremble. “Saw. Needles. Brought me back,” he whispers.

Fuck, Geralt wishes he was better at this shit. What the fuck are you supposed to say in these moments? At a loss, Geralt kisses Jaskier's temple and strokes a hand through his hair. “I’m here,” he murmurs. When Jaskier whimpers and tries to climb impossibly closer to Geralt, he repeats the statement, over and over in an attempt to keep Jaskier grounded with Geralt and not lose him to the memories of the shifter’s time with that monster. As the minutes pass, the tension vibrating through Jaskier slowly starts to dissipate until Geralt has a relaxed puddle of shifter in his arms. 

“I feel so weak,” Jaskier sniffs after a long silence. Geralt bites his cheek to tamp down on his outrage and protests. He learned early on that Jaskier needs to express himself to help process, and if Geralt reacts too strongly the shifter will pull away. 

Geralt takes several deep breaths until he knows his words will sound calm. “Why do you say that little lark?” Geralt finally asks, wiping away the tears flowing down his love’s face. Tearing himself away from Geralt, Jaskier curls himself into a ball. Dammit. Despite Geralt’s clawing need to hold his mate again, this was another thing he learned. Jaskier needs his space and despite Geralt’s instincts crying out to cradle the shifter and soothe him, that can just make things worse. 

Red rimmed eyes look up from where Jaskier’s face is buried in his knees. “You’ve been through decades of misery. And I don’t know what the trials and mutations were like but I have my imagination and I’m sure that barely touches on the torture you endured. I don’t see you curled up on the floor sobbing your eyes out,” Jaskier spits, words poisoned with self-loathing.

Geralt reaches out a hand fruitlessly before curling it into a fist on his knee. He studies the ground for a long moment as he attempts to gather his thoughts and the courage it’ll take to express them. “I snapped your head off when you suggested playing with bindings in bed a few years ago because they strapped me to a cot during my extra mutations,” he rasps, closing his eyes to ward against the memories flooding back into his mind. “I toss out materials and potions anyone other than I touch because they forced so many concoctions down my throat to make me into this. And remember when we met?” He flicks his gaze up to meet wide blue eyes. “When I socked you in the gut?”

Jaskier smiles wanly. “How could I forget?” Nodding, Geralt looks back down as he flexes his fingers and swallows. “Every time someone mentions Blaviken I-” he takes a shaky breath. “I see her face. Her sightless eyes.” Shoving his skeletons back into the box in the back of his mind, Geralt forces himself to look at Jaskier once again. “We all have our demons. You just get used to carrying them on your back after a while.” 

The tension coursing through his veins from forcing himself to relive his past releases as Jaskier shifts and clambers back into Geralt’s lap. Releasing a long sigh, Geralt buries his face into russet fur. “I got you little lark,” he says roughly. “You’re gonna be okay.” They both will be. 

*******

Between half a town attacking them and witnessing Aiden being turned into a pincushion last year, _and_ Jaskier being kidnapped this spring, suffice to say Lambert has been on his guard. So the moment a man built like a brick house saunters onto their path Lambert’s hackles go up. “Hey there old friend,” the man drawls, brown eyes flashing in Aiden’s direction. Lambert immediately pulls up his horse and unsheathes twin daggers as two more people stroll out of the brush. Instead of his usual response when trying to deescalate a situation, often involving friendly smiles and soothing words like the pompous asshole he is, Aiden bristles before placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“You know you’ve proven to be a hard guy to kill,” a blonde haired woman muses as she idly flips a dagger from behind them. Wait, what?

“Right? I mean if the poisoned arrows didn’t do the trick I could’ve sworn being attacked by dozens of villagers would overwhelm you or get you burned at the stake at least,” a second man wearing a dumb hat sighs, studying his boots with a frown. Fuck. Lambert should’ve realized that two attacks in one year wasn’t a coincidence. Since when did a few sharp words lead to a coordinated assault by half of a village anyway? 

“Can we help you assholes?” Lambert growls, fingers flexing around his daggers as he flicks his gaze around the bastards circling them.

“This is between us and our old buddy darling,” Blondy croons. “Stay out of our way and we won’t have to kill you too.” Right, like he would actually leave Aiden to fight on his own.

“What’s Aiden to you?” Lambert asks warily as he dismounts from his horse, watching Aiden do the same. The Cat’s expression is completely shuttered and his frame is vibrating with barely contained tension. Very unlike him. Who the fuck are these dicks and what the fuck is going on?

“You see Lam Lam, your pal Aiden used to be part of our gang until he decided he was too cool for us anymore,” Dumb Hat pouts. Lambert bares his teeth at the man's words. How do they know who he is?

“And when our noble leader Jad Karadin tried convincing Aiden to stay, your friend killed him,” Blondy hisses. 

“His way of “convincing” me as you so aptly put it was by threatening the man I love,” Aiden snarls, drawing his sword. Lambert blinks, mind reeling as he tries to keep up with the revelations being thrown at him. Wait- is Aiden talking about him? Why didn’t he tell Lambert all this shit?

“You killed one of our brothers, so, blood for blood and all of that,” Dumb Hat says with a lazy wave of his sword.

“We got tired of you dodging our assassins the past two years. Want something done right, do it yourself,” Brick House grunts. This has been going on for two years? What the fuck? Is that why Aiden came to Kaer Morhen? Is that why he insisted Lambert travel with him? 

But before Lambert can fall down that particular rabbit hole further an arrow is shot from above that Aiden was somehow anticipating and manages to deflect with a flick of his wrist. “Nice try Vienne,” he calls out before lunging at Brick House. In a flurry of movement, the pair is attacked on all sides and to his dismay, Lambert’s first two knives are easily dodged. Fuck, so these aren’t the usual grunts then. Concerned about another long range attack while they’re distracted by these three assholes, Lambert scans the tree line to find the fourth member of the gang, barely avoiding a stab to the ribs as he does so. 

There. A subtle shift in the trees that wasn’t caused by any wind. Lambert tackles Aiden as a wicked looking arrow barely misses the Cat’s back. Fuck. It’s either help Aiden with these three bastards or face that sharpshooter. If he doesn’t hunt that fourth person down though Aiden will find an arrow through his eye in no time. Double fuck. Dodging another stab, Lambert lunges for his crossbow and pack before making his way toward where the arrows flew from. As another arrow whooshes through the air, Lambert cuts it down with his sword only to pivot and repeat the motion again. Fuck they’re fast. 

Steadying his crossbow, Lambert squints at the tree line and lets an arrow fly, grinning savagely when he hears a distant grunt. Not wanting to lose the momentum, he runs closer to the tree where the cowardly bastard is hiding, determined to finish the job. He’s so busy lining up his next shot though that Lambert doesn’t have time to cut down the next arrow. Fuck. Now that he’s close enough, Lambert can clearly see the women with short cropped hair and pointed ears sneering down at him, bow pointed at his heart while Lambert does the same. “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight, you up there with little me all the way down here,” Lambert drawls. “How about we even the odds?” 

Lambert grits his teeth at the harsh laugh he gets in response. “No thanks shitstain, I’m happy where I am.” 

Lambert shrugs. “Suit yourself.” And in a blur of motion, Lambert whips out two bombs and chucks them right at her smarmy face, delighting in her look of shock and horror before they explode. Satisfied that she’s taken care of, Lambert turns back to the fight only to feel his blood turn cold. Aiden is on the ground, bloody and not moving with an arrow through his chest and two prone figures beside him. Brick House looms over him and is about to bring down his sword in a killing blow. Fuck. Aiming his shot, Lambert sends an arrow straight into the bastard’s heart. 

Sprinting towards where Aiden is now being smothered by the dead Brick House, Lambert throws the piece of trash off of the Cat before falling to his knees. Aiden’s eyes are closed, skin dangerously pale. “Hey hey hey,” Lambert pants, slapping Aiden lightly on the cheek. No response. _Fuck._ Launching for his packs, Lambert forces a bottle of Swallow down Aiden’s throat. Still no response. Mind racing in a blind panic, Lambert finds his chest tightening. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? He stares down at the still body beneath him. No. This can’t be it. 

Then Lambert’s gaze catches on Aiden’s medallion. Thank fuck for Yennefer. Flipping it over, Lambert presses his thumb against the tiny metal dot stuck to the back, praying to all the gods he doesn’t believe in that something happens. After three seconds, he repeats the gesture on his own medallion before fumbling for rags and salve to try to stem the bleeding. There’s so much blood. Fuck there’s so much blood. Lambert is just realizing that the arrow lodged deep in Aiden has barbs when a portal opens and Yennefer comes running through. Lambert blinks up at her, hands shaking. “Please,” he croaks. 

She takes one look at Aiden and swears profusely. “Good thing I finally convinced Vesemir to give me a direct line,” Yennefer mutters before opening another portal. “In now,” she nods briskly. Numbly, Lambert carefully lifts Aiden, grip tightening when he senses a faint heartbeat. So faint. Too faint. When he stumbles through the portal, it’s to the gates of Kaer Morhen. Thank fuck. Marya and Vesemir are already racing towards them, probably following the distress signal. 

Lambert doesn’t really keep track of what happens next. All he knows is the limp body is taken out of his arms and Lambert is held back as he snarls and fights to get Aiden back. He’s jolted out of his maddened haze by the brush of fur and concerned blue eyes. Songbird. Lambert goes limp in the grasp of whoever’s restraining him and collapses to the ground, adrenaline fading away. He blinks and the next thing he sees is Jaskier kneeling at his feet and gently washing the blood off his hands as he hums softly. “Aiden-” Lambert croaks, attempting to move toward the infirmary. But a steady hand stops him. 

He turns to snarl at the owner of the hand only to blink into Jaskier’s eyes again. “Yennefer and Marya are taking care of him, Lambert. Let them work,” the shifter says gently.

Lambert slumps against the wall he must have collapsed by earlier. “How is he?” Lambert rasps. 

Familiar fingers card through Lambert’s hair. “You got here just in time,” is the murmured response. Lambert sags. Fuck. 

When he’s finally allowed to see Aiden, Lambert crashes through the infirmary doors, skidding to a stop at the sight that greets him. The Cat is bandaged nearly head to toe and still barely fucking breathing. Stumbling over to him, Lambert falls onto his knees and grips an unbandaged hand. “How is he?” Lambert rasps, not taking his eyes off of the unconscious Cat. 

“He’ll live,” Marya grunts. “But whatever was in that arrow already got in his bloodstream and seems to stunt his healing. It’s gonna be a long recovery.” 

“If it was the same as last year’s that’s no surprise. He was out for a week even after a healer gave me a potion for it,” Lambert mumbles distractedly, soaking up the prone form of his lo- his frie- his...something. 

A strong hand grips his shoulder. “Wanna run that part by me again?” Marya says dangerously. 

Still refusing to take his eyes off of Aiden as he watches the Cat’s chest rise and fall Lambert says faintly, “Got ambushed twice, once by professionals once by townsfolk. Just thought it was a coincidence. Turns out it wasn’t.” 

“Who ordered it?” 

Lambert shrugs listlessly. “Some bastards who were butt-hurt that Aiden ditched them. Think we killed them all.” Lambert distantly registers a door open and shut as he strokes a wayward curl out of Aiden’s face. “He’ll be okay?” Fuck, Lambert hates how childlike and pathetic he sounds. But he knows he can count on Marya to be brutally honest. 

Two hands settle on his shoulders, and Lambert slumps as he feels a kiss on his head. “Yes, pup, he’ll be okay. You did good.” Lambert drops his head with a shaky sigh. Fuck, no he didn’t. If he had dealt with that sharpshooter quicker Aiden wouldn’t have had to face all three of them alone. He has to do better. 

The door creaks open and thuds shut again. “I broadcasted to everyone that you both are safe,” Yennefer murmurs. 

“How’d you manage that?” Marya asks, sounding impressed.

“They function as a xenovox as well as beacons so I can send updates,” Yennefer says with a hint of pride. 

“Smart girl.”

Lambert tunes out whatever else they jabber about, too busy counting Aiden’s breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

*******

Lambert startles from where he’s staring at Aiden, turning to scowl at the plate clattering beside him. “Eat or I’m shoving the food down your throat,” Geralt growls. 

Blinking blearily up at the elder witcher Lambert bares his teeth. “Not hungry.” 

Golden eyes that match his own flash dangerously. “You haven’t left his bedside in a week. You haven’t eaten and I highly doubt you slept. So unless you want Aiden to lecture us about taking proper care of you when he wakes, **eat.”** The plate is pushed to the edge of the side table pointedly and Lambert glares at it. He wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t hungry. How can Lambert have any semblance of an appetite when the man he lo- cares- _tolerates_ is lying unconscious on the bed? Sighing explosively, Geralt hands Lambert a tankard. “Well if you won’t eat at least drink some water.” 

Huffing out a breath, knowing this is the only way to get Geralt off his bloody case, Lambert throws the drink back. He immediately realizes something is wrong with the taste though. Whirling towards Geralt Lambert tries standing, only to find his feet won’t hold him. “What the fuck did you-” but before Lambert can get the words out darkness overtakes him. 

“Sorry brother, it’s for your own good,” Geralt sighs as he hauls the stubborn git onto the bed beside Aiden. Settling into the chair Lambert had nearly started to grow roots in, Geralt studies the witcher before him. “Gotta hand it to you Cat, never seen Lambert so wound up over someone before,” Geralt muses, leaning back in his chair. The herbs Marya ground into the drink Geralt gave Lambert should keep the bull-headed bastard asleep for a good while. He had been up for seven days straight and wasn’t giving any signs of relinquishing his devoted watch. While admirable, it wasn’t very sustainable. So, desperate measures were called for.

The puzzle of the ornery Wolf and suave Cat is one Geralt has been trying to wrap his head around since Aiden strolled up to him and Jaskier at that tavern a couple of years ago. No one manages to make Lambert as flustered as Aiden, and it’s quite the look on the prickly bastard. Lambert is certainly more grounded with the Cat around too, it’s like something about Aiden steadies him, balances him out. Geralt hates to admit it but the bloody Cat seems to be good for Lambert. “I may not trust Cats but I guess you’re not that bad,” Geralt mumbles after several minutes of contemplation.

“Can I get that in writing?” Aiden croaks, a single amber eye peeling open. 

Scowling Geralt grumbles, “Smug bastard.” The Cat’s grin quickly turns into a grimace when he tries to sit up. Steadying him, Geralt adjusts Aiden’s pillow before guiding him back down to the bed. “Stupid Cat,” he grouches, sitting back down beside the bed. Reaching over for the tankard of water Marya had left for when Aiden inevitably woke, Geralt hands it to the other witcher. 

Taking a grateful sip, Aiden blinks pain fogged eyes at him. “Where’s Lambert? Is he okay?” he rasps. Lips twitching, Geralt nods to the other side of the bed. Turning painfully, Aiden lets out a soft laugh before wincing. “Let me guess, stubborn bastard refused to sleep and eat again?”

“Yep,” Geralt nods with a pop of his lips. 

Returning to his previous position, Aiden smiles fondly at the ceiling. “I’m a lucky man to have such an attentive nursemaid,” he says wryly.

“Call Lambert nursemaid when he’s conscious again; I wanna see how he reacts,” Geralt grins. 

Chuckling, Aiden’s eyes flutter shut. “Whatever you want Wolf.” As the Cat’s breathing slows again, Geralt releases a contemplative hum. He could probably start cutting Aiden some slack, Geralt supposes. Maybe reduce his threatening sessions a tetch. 

When Lambert wakes up, Geralt and Jaskier are both by Aiden’s bed, in the middle of a game of Gwent. “You son of a bitch,” Lambert snarls, launching himself at Geralt. 

As the two Wolves crash to the floor, Aiden jolts awake. “What the fuck?” he rasps blinking around blearily. 

Smiling at him sheepishly Jaskier shrugs. “Lambert’s awake.” 

When Aiden releases a wheezing laugh, Lambert freezes his attempt at strangling Geralt, clambering to his feet and to the bedside. “Aiden,” Lambert breathes before his expression hardens. “What did I say about getting hurt, you dickhead?!”

“I love you too kitten,” Aiden grins. It took a very short period of time for Aiden to understand that “dickhead” is essentially a term of endearment coming from Lambert. He’s decided he’s perfectly fine with that. As Lambert shoves Jaskier away to take his seat, Aiden smiles softly at the Wolf.

“What are you grinning at?” Lambert grumbles from where he’s latched onto one of Aiden’s hands.

“Can’t a man gaze into the eyes of the love of his life after a near death experience without being questioned about it?” Aiden asks innocently, grin widening at the adorable reddening of Lambert’s ears. “I’m okay kitten,” he murmurs, when the furrow over Lambert’s brow doesn’t smooth out. 

“You almost weren’t,” Lambert mumbles, studying their linked fingers before flicking his gaze up at Aiden, looking at him searchingly. “Who were those assholes?” 

Aiden lets out a slow breath as he lays back on his pillow, closing his eyes to gather himself. He distantly registers some shuffling and a door opening and shutting as Jaskier ushers Geralt out. Once they’re alone again, Aiden peels his eyes open reluctantly. “They’re my old gang,” he says regretfully. “Jad Karadin was our leader. When I decided I wanted to pursue you I told him I wanted out. He didn’t take kindly to that and had been collecting dirt on me without my knowledge.” He turns to look into those eyes that burn with a light that always steals his breath. “Karadin threatened to kill you if I didn’t remain with them, and he would’ve managed it.” Aiden shrugs numbly. “I killed him. Should’ve realized all these attacks on me these past few years weren’t coincidental. I just thought it was Karma come to pay her dues,” he says with a rueful smile.

Lambert frowns and goes back to studying their joined hands, fingers drumming restlessly against Aiden’s knuckles. Always in motion, his kitten; just one of the countless endearing qualities he has. “So coming to Kaer Morhen, insisting on traveling with me,” Lambert says slowly. Wide golden eyes look up at him. “That wasn’t just some kinda cover to save your hide?” 

Aiden’s heart shatters. Fuck, of course that’s what Lambert would think. Rising up despite his many wounds protesting the motion, Aiden draws Lambert to him. “No kitten not at all,” Aiden says fervently. “I just want to be with you, no ulterior motive.” 

“There’s always an ulterior motive,” Lambert says bitterly, averting his gaze. 

Pressing their foreheads together, Aiden draws a thumb along Lambert’s cheek, frowning at the Wolf’s downcast expression. “Not for me Lambert. If there’s nothing else you will believe, please at least believe my love for you.” 

A long moment passes in which Aiden’s hand has gravitated to the back of Lambert’s head, stroking his hair soothingly. Eventually timid golden eyes rise to meet his. “I think I’m starting to,” Lambert whispers. Aiden smiles. Fuck, just those few words make all the new holes in Aiden’s body worth it. 

*******

Recovery is slow and exhausting, but not in all the ways one may think. “I swear Lambert, I love you with all my heart but if you have hidden my sword again I’ll hog Dandelion for myself tonight,” Aiden hisses. 

Lambert only stands in front of him stubbornly, arms crossed as he stares in the middle distance. “I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge related to the location of your sword, but if I can give my humble opinion I would suggest that you’re in **no bloody shape to start training yet.”**

“Gods you’re spending too much time with Jaskier,” Aiden mutters, rubbing his face tiredly. At the mention of his name the troublesome bard who had been making his way toward them turns on his heel and hurries in the opposite direction. Smart man. “Listen kitten, if I promise to let you keep an eye on me and I _swear_ to stop the moment I feel a painful twinge, will you show me where you’ve hidden my godsdamned sword?” Aiden asks with forced patience. 

Humming, Lambert taps a finger to an opposite elbow before bobbing his head. “Fine yeah I guess,” he shrugs, striding through the courtyard before climbing atop the ramparts. Of course, Aiden should’ve known. His kitten loves climbing tall things. 

Geralt and Jaskier watch with amusement as Lambert hovers over Aiden while the Cat attempts to run through basic stances. “Gods he’s worse than you when I got stabbed by that bandit a few years back,” Jaskier laughs. 

Glowering at the memory Geralt rumbles, “I should’ve seen that sword coming.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier nudges Geralt good-naturedly. “C’mon love, as much as you might claim otherwise, you don’t have eyes on the back of your head.” When Geralt doesn’t reply Jaskier sighs. Overprotective wolf. “Wanna spar?” Grinning at how Geralt immediately brightens, Jaskier goes inside to retrieve their swords. They haven’t sparred since before he was kidnapped so this could be good for both of them. Get them back into shape, get them moving, reconnecting. 

Suddenly Jaskier’s vision doubles as he begins to feel oddly overheated, breath lodging in his throat. 

_”I’ve been watching you two you know little wolf,” Stregobor croons, studying the latest screw he wanted to experiment with. “Seems like a waste of resources, playing with swords when you have claws and fangs instead, don’t you think? And sparring with that butcher?” Shaking his head he tsks. “None of that under my care, little wolf. You won’t need to pick up a sword again.” Anything else he said was drowned out by Jaskier’s screams._

”Jaskier! Jaskier!” Someone’s shaking him and out of instinct Jaskier shrinks away, gasping for breath. The voice sounds panicked though. Stregobor never sounded panicked. He always sounded calm. Too calm. Too calm. Too- “Please little wolf,” a voice begs. “I mean- _fuck!”_ A buried part of Jaskier registers the frantic cries of his mate but Jaskier is too busy racing out of the keep to hide somewhere safe to listen to it. 

*******

”He run again?” 

Geralt doesn’t look up from where he’s cradling his head hopelessly, pressed against the wall he found Jaskier hyperventilating against 10 minutes ago. “I fucked up. Called him little wolf again,” Geralt rasps, eyes clenched shut as he chastises himself for the upteenth time.

He hears Marya slide down beside him with a sigh. “That’s a name you’ve called him for a decade at least,” she says kindly. “It’s hard to stop that kind of habit.” 

Tugging at his hair, Geralt growls with frustration. “He was back there again and I was just trying to snap him out of it but nothing was working and I wasn’t thinking and then-” he grits his teeth together before thudding his head against the wall. “I just want to help him and I feel like I keep fucking up,” he says, despair clawing apart his heart. 

A long silence follows. “You know I don’t mince my words and don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Marya starts. Geralt snorts. Understatement. “You’re doing everything you can pup,” she states firmly. “You’re giving him space when he needs, you’re holding him tight when he asks, you listen when he calls.” 

Geralt releases a weary sigh. “Doesn’t seem like enough. It’s so easy to fuck up.” Letting out a bitter laugh he adds, “Monster hunting is simple. It’s black and white. You know their strengths and weaknesses, you know the best strategy of beating them, you battle it out, you hopefully survive.” He pauses, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to fight this monster.” 

Marya hums. “Watching someone you love suffer is one of the hardest things you have to do.” Geralt can only nod glumly in agreement, eyes fluttering shut when a gentle hand cards through his hair. “We’re made to want to fix things, to make everything better for those we love but the harsh truth is we can’t. We can only stand by their side as they face their demons themselves and support them in any way they’ll let us. And if all they let us do is love them, then that’s just what we’ll do.” 

Silence falls as Geralt ruminates over Marya’s words, breathing through the hopelessness that has been wrapped around his chest like a vice. “Will he ever be back to himself?” Geralt asks, hating how meek he sounds. 

“We’re never the same,” Marya murmurs, and Geralt feels his heart slowly shatter at the truth of that statement. “But he’ll heal and he’ll grow and he’ll still be the man you fell in love with. He’ll sing again and laugh again and fill the room with light again. Just give him time.” 

Geralt nods, reaching out to squeeze the shifter’s hand. “Thank you Marya,” he croaks. Ruffling his hair fondly, Marya stands with a groan. “When you’re in the mood, come back to the training ground. I’ve made a bet with Vesemir that Lambert will snatch Aiden’s sword out of his hand again today,” she says with a cackle. “He thinks Aiden will retaliate in kind.” Geralt watches her go with a small smile. Though he longs to follow his mate to whatever hovel he’s hiding in, Geralt knows that’s not what Jaskier needs. Watching the Cat’s face turn beet red again from frustration could be just the distraction Geralt could use while he waits for Jaskier to return to him again. 

*******

Vesemir watches as Geralt tends to Roach and Biscuit, murmuring in their ears. The filly is growing into her legs quickly which is encouraging, and taking care of his two girls has been a good way for Geralt to spend his hours whenever they wait for Jaskier to come back from where he hides. He hasn’t disappeared for this long since the early weeks though, and Vesemir is considering ignoring Marya’s warning and searching for the wayward pup himself. It’s been a fraught season with Jaskier’s slow recovery and the many setbacks that have come along with it. Marya reassures them that he’s making gains but it can be hard to see that when it feels like every other day the poor boy darts off into the woods or spirals into a panic. 

Geralt turns suddenly from where he’s feeding Roach oats and, following his gaze, Vesemir spots Jaskier slinking back into the keep, still shifted. Gods, Geralt must have his scent memorized. Though he hurries toward the gate, Geralt hesitates instead of crossing the courtyard to greet Jaskier. When the shifter spots Geralt, his ears flatten and he lets out a low whine. Geralt looks conflicted before finally, making up his mind, he shifts and begins slowly approaching Jaskier, tail between his legs. That seems to be the right decision if Jaskier’s tentative steps toward the witcher are any indication. When they meet in the middle, both shifters rub their heads together and release low whimpers. 

Deciding to give them some privacy, Vesemir turns to get started at dinner, now that he knows how many mouths he’ll be feeding. When he enters the kitchen however, he’s surprised to find Aiden already preparing something. Looking up from the pot he’s working on, Aiden flashes a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry, Lambert is monitoring me to make sure I don’t poison you all as the final step in an elaborate plan to finish off the Wolf school.” 

Turning to where Lambert is scowling in the corner Vesemir raises a brow. “Even for you that’s a tad paranoid pup,” he says dryly.

“It’s sure as fuck more realistic than falling in love,” Lambert grumbles. Though the “with me” was clearly cut off last minute, it lingers in the air unspoken. Vesemir sighs. Geralt, Eskel, Jaskier, and Vesemir have worked to lower some of Lambert’s walls and show him it’s okay to trust and accept affection, but the stubborn git is a work in progress. You can't blame him given his childhood. Aiden’s good for him though, has enough bite to keep Lambert on his toes and enough patience to let all the Wolf’s bullshit slide right off of him. Plus he’s incredibly skilled at making Lambert blush and until Vesemir first witnessed that he honestly didn’t think Lambert _could_ turn red. Suffice to say, and Vesemir can’t believe he’s saying this, he’s glad the Cat sauntered through the keep those couple a years ago. 

“Lambert, I think there would be easier ways he could’ve found to eliminate us other than getting mortally injured and needing to be portalled to the keep just to survive,” Vesemir deadpans, peering over Aiden’s shoulder to see what’s being made. 

“I attempted to convince him that I was simply cooking as thanks for saving my life and giving me refuge while I recover but, alas, I apparently can’t be trusted,” Aiden says wryly from where he’s stirring the stew that smells delectable. Hm. Maybe there are other reasons to keep the Cat around besides his good influence on Lambert. 

“You hid my daggers again,” Lambert replies mutinously, crossing his arms. Vesemir hides his grin. Given what he witnessed on the training field, Vesemir can assume he knows why Aiden would do that.

“Thanks for helping me win a bet,” Vesemir remarks, and, seeing that dinner is in safe hands, he turns to go, chortling at Lambert’s outraged questions in his wake. 

*******

A few days later, Jaskier and Aiden are sparring while Lambert and Geralt are watching fretfully from the sides. Though if anyone described the way they’re hovering by their partners as “fretful” they would probably find themselves punched. When Lambert and Geralt tried sparring with their partners a day ago, they were critiqued as being “too tentative” so this is the middle ground they’ve come to. While Lambert is searching for any sign that Aiden is in pain, Geralt’s keeping a watch on Jaskier's eyes to make sure they don’t glaze over. So far neither of them have had to intervene thankfully.

“They still staring at us like they’re barely restraining themselves from ripping the swords out of our hands?” Jaskier pants from where he has his back to the two witchers. 

”Hm. I give them five more minutes before they both come storming over here regardless of whether we need them or not,” Aiden says idly, sounding far too calm considering he too is out of breath given his still healing wounds.

”I say one,” Jaskier grins as he parries a thrust and replies.

“You got yourself a bet,” Aiden says with a smile. They fall silent for another two thrusts before Aiden speaks again. “How are you doing?”

Jaskier falters in his retreat before making up for it with his lunge. “Is this really the time you should be asking that?” he asks grimly, his good humor gone.

Aiden shrugs as he backpedals before sweeping an arm low. “Perhaps not.”

Jaskier falls silent, taking solace in the solidity and structure that sparring brings. Parry, respond. Spin, thrust. Retreat, lunge. “I haven’t fled into the woods today, so let’s call it a success” Jaskier says sarcastically. Shame curdles in his gut at the recurring public proof of how poorly he’s actually doing.

”There’s nothing wrong with taking time for yourself,” Aiden says mildly.

Jaskier releases a bitter laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” he bites out, swiping a bit more quickly and viciously in an attempt to expel the brewing anxiety in his chest. As Aiden attempts to spin out of the way he stumbles, gasping in pain as he twists wrong. “ _Fuck_ Aiden I’m sorry,” Jaskier exclaims, dropping his sword in horror. Before he can try approaching the Cat, Lambert is by his side and leading him away, muttering about how he knew it was too soon to spar while ignoring Aiden’s protests. Collapsing to the ground, Jaskier curls into a ball, appalled at his behavior. They had agreed to a light spar; what was Jaskier thinking with that move? 

”Little lark can I touch you?” Geralt murmurs, drawing up beside him. Jaskier releases a sob. How the fuck does he deserve such consideration after the shit he pulled?

”You can do whatever the fuck you want Geralt,” Jaskier says miserably. Instead of feeling familiar arms around him, Geralt settles on the ground. Jaskier can’t help but be slightly relieved. He’s feeling a bit too raw and brittle to be touched right now. 

”I refuse to do anything without your permission,” is the rumbled reply. And Jaskier just snaps.

Leaping to his feet Jaskier glares down at Geralt. “Why the fuck not, huh?!” he shouts. “ _He_ had no problem doing whatever the fuck he wanted so why not you too?” he demands, shoving Geralt as the witcher rises and snarling when Geralt holds his ground. “Let’s just make it open fucking season on Jaskier!” he cries. “Do whatever the fuck you want to me I can take it! I can bloody well take it!” A tempest rages within Jaskier as the shame and pain and fear and anger he’s been trying to contain comes pouring out in a torrent. He’s lost in the storm as all the emotions Jaskier has attempted to handle alone overwhelm him. He just wants to scream and shout and punch and stab and rip out this gaping wound in his heart.

Sturdy arms suddenly wrap around him and Jaskier rails and shakes and pounds his fists against that stupid chest. He doesn’t deserve affection right now. Doesn’t know how to handle it. “I got you Jaskier. I got you. No one will touch you again,” Geralt says steadily, lips pressed again his ear.

Like a puppet with cut strings, Jaskier sags against Geralt’s embrace. “You can’t promise that,” he gasps, still shaking. 

Geralt releases a slow breath, carding gentle fingers through his hair. “You’re right. I can’t.” The arms around him tighten. “But if anyone lays a finger on you again I’ll make damn sure it’s the last thing they fucking do.” Jaskier presses his nose to the nape of Geralt’s neck, breathing in the scent of mate as he tries to calm the storm still brewing within him. “You don’t have to carry this weight on your own Jaskier,” Geralt says softly. “You have your pack.” 

A sob slips out without permission, and Jaskier buries his face in Geralt’s chest, gripping the back of his tunic desperately. He hasn’t spoken about what that bastard did to him, shame and fear getting the best of him. And though he knows Geralt would sooner cut out his own heart than harm Jaskier, his instincts have been overriding his senses. If he doesn’t shift or run, the blinding panic and despair he feels nearly every fucking second threatens to overtake Jaskier. Geralt has been so patient and so understanding though even as Jaskier draws away and curls within himself. And clearly trying to fight through this alone isn’t working. 

Maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe he can take what’s being offered. If he starts small perhaps.

“Can we go to our room? I’d like to watch you draw. Maybe with Dandelion?” Jaskier whispers tentatively. Those strong arms squeeze him once again. “Anything for you little lark.” 

*******

Aiden endures Lambert’s mother-henning as he checks every stitch and wound for any tears or bleeding. “Like I said, I’m fine kitten,” Aiden says again. 

”Forgive me for not trusting your definition of fine,” Lambert says darkly, smoothing out Aiden’s tunic as the Cat stiffly puts it back on. Aiden looks on fondly as Lambert fusses with the blankets, prodding Aiden until he obligingly slips under the covers. When Aiden lifts up the sheets with a raised eyebrow, Lambert begrudgingly pulls off his boots and clambers in. 

Once Aiden covers them both with the blankets Lambert immediately latches onto him tightly without jostling his injuries. “You know if you keep this up I’m gonna start thinking you don’t just tolerate me but might actually like me,” Aiden gently teases. The expected “fuck off dickhead” doesn’t come though and instead Aiden feels Lambert stiffen. Peering down at where Lambert’s head is buried in Aiden’s neck he says tentatively, “Kitten? You okay?” 

When there’s just more silence, Aiden attempts to draw back only to have the arms wrapped around him tighten minutely. “You know. Uh.” A throat gets cleared. “You’re not. A total dickhead. And uh. I’d rather you not go and get yourself killed. So. Maybe stop hanging out with assholes.” 

Aiden grins into Lambert’s unruly hair. That’s as good as a love confession. There are many things he could say to that but all of them are too sappy and would cause Lambert to run. So he’ll stay in Lambert’s comfort zone. “But if I were to stop hanging out with assholes I would be deprived of your company,” Aiden remarks forlornly, grin growing when Lambert growls and flicks his ear lightly.

“Dickhead.” 

“I love you too kitten.” As Lambert slowly unravels and sinks into Aiden’s embrace, Aiden takes a hearty breath of that intoxicating cinnamon scent. Gods, he could stay like this all fucking year and never complain.

*******

Jaskier is curled under Geralt’s left arm as the witcher works on a drawing of Roach and Biscuit. Dandelion is purring in Jaskier’s lap and the shifter is digging his fingers in the cat’s fur in order to ground and brace himself as he attempts to open up. “The first few days were mostly taunts and mocking,” Jaskier whispers, breathing out a relieved sigh when Geralt continues to draw after only a short hesitation. He doesn’t want Geralt to stop; watching the lines flow onto parchment under his mate’s hand is helping keep the flashes of memories back. And if Geralt makes a comment Jaskier is afraid he’ll clamp up again.

“Every time I tried fighting I’d get shocked by the collar, even if he wasn’t in the room. And if I tried shifting-” Jaskier shudders, curling under the safety of Geralt’s embrace further. Geralt’s arm squeezes around Jaskier, drawing him in closer. Jaskier determinately stares at the parchment as Geralt starts working on a sketch of Dandelion beside the filly. He takes a steady breath. “When I tried shifting it was like my muscles were tearing and my bones were breaking apart.” 

Jaskier closes his eyes against the wave of memories and pain pressing against his mind. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he says, voice as small as a frightened child’s. 

Setting aside his notebook and charcoal, Geralt wordlessly opens his arms and Jaskier falls into them gratefully, Dandelion wiggling free so as not to get crushed. “Thank you for telling me little lark,” Geralt rasps in Jaskier’s ear, and the shifter shivers at the barely contained fury in his words. He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that Geralt isn’t angry at him as the witcher squeezes him impossibly tighter. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you sooner,” Geralt says, voice breaking as he buries his face in Jaskier’s chemise. “I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier eyes widen at this unexpected display of emotion, and with an uncertain hum starts to stroke through his mate’s hair. Fuck, he didn’t think about how Geralt has been coping amidst all of his own turmoil. He had no idea his mate held lingering guilt over his capture. “You found me Geralt. That’s what matters,” Jaskier says softly, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. He soon finds himself prone and wrapped around a needy witcher, and Jaskier obliges him gladly. He’s been so distant lately, it must have been incredibly hard for his poor mate. Yet Geralt didn’t say anything, didn’t complain or push Jaskier until he was ready. Fuck, how did he get so damn lucky? Breathing in the scent of home, Jaskier presses his ear to Geralt’s chest, the steady thud of his mate’s heart chasing away his demons. Cocooned in the safety of his mate’s arms, Jaskier finds himself drifting off. 

That night as they finish dinner, Jaskier looks around the table nervously. Since he’s come back the only people he’s been comfortable curling up beside have been Geralt and Marya, and sometimes not even them. But Geralt’s words from earlier still echo in his mind. “Can we-” when all eyes around the table turn to him, Jaskier swallows, fiddling with his fork. “Can we go to the den tonight?” At the matching smiles, even on Lambert’s face, Jaskier feels some of his tension dissipate. When no one crowds him as they file into the pack room, he starts to feel like he can breathe again too.

Shifting, Jaskier plods over to Lambert with an inquiring whine. When the younger witcher spreads his arms out with a hopeful grin, Jaskier plops into his lap. Fuck, he missed that cinnamon scent. He’s about to close his eyes when Jaskier realises that no one else is joining them. Peering around the room, Jaskier releases a disgruntled huff. The rest of the pack blink at him with surprise while he stares at them impatiently. He’s going to do this. Because he misses his pack and Geralt’s right, he doesn’t need to carry the burden alone. 

Soon Jaskier finds himself lying across Lambert and Aiden with Marya, Geralt, and Vesemir curled up around him and Dandelion resting on his back. As the scents of nearly half of his pack twine together and he feels several different hands stroke through his fur, Jaskier feels part of himself slowly sew itself back together. He’s gonna be okay. He’s gonna be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this wasn't my usual fluffy fare but I really didn't want to just gloss over Jaskier's trauma too quickly. I promise that the next fic will return to our regular scheduled programming of fluff and shenanigans, including Yennefer finally finding some love of her own!
> 
> Title is another Rent reference from "What You Own" because I've decided to fully commit until I run out of applicable lyrics


End file.
